by Kristian Cortez, Staff Writer

“How else would I ever get a chance to dance like that?”

This is a response included in Richard Barrios’s book, West Side Story: The Jets, The Sharks, and the Making of a Classic, from a dancer after being asked by the film’s composer Saul Chaplin why anyone would continue to work for the notoriously difficult choreographer Jerome Robbins. As Chaplin observed dance rehearsals before the start of filming began on the 1961 picture, he deduced that the dancers “didn’t dance out of joy, they danced out of fear.”

An observance that isn’t far off as every dancer that worked with Robbins can attest to his harsh teaching styles. He was a perfectionist who would yell and criticize his dancers, making them run through dance numbers dozens, if not hundreds of times until he deemed it perfect. One technique of his was to give his dancers multiple variations on the same passage. They were expected to learn all of them and be prepared to perform whichever was called for. Robbins was known for working his dancers until they were numb, bruised, and sometimes bleeding but when prompted about their experiences working under the neurotic choreographer they all share the same sentiment: that he was vicious but they wouldn’t hesitate in working with him again.

To some this may seem outrageous—how could anyone work a second time for such a person? But for fellow artists it is actually quite understandable. The ultimate goal of creation is to reach one’s maximum potential. To reach a sort-of artist’s nirvana, where you are operating on another playing field; unlocking a portion of yourself that takes you right over the edge of what you thought was possible in your talent. It sometimes takes an outsider to discover this and it is something that once experienced can leave one searching for it again and again.

An objective that was achieved and preserved on film in 1961 for West Side Story. The film saw Jerome Robbins as both the choreographer and co-director (along with Robert Wise), until he was fired halfway through filming, when his demand for repeated takes and multiple angles on single scenes resulted in production delays and budget increases. Not to mention, the movie was being shot on 70-millimeter film, which during this time period, was even more expensive than it is today. His removal, however, proved to be no issue. Robbins’s mark on the film had already been established. As we watch the film now sixty years later, with the knowledge of how demanding shooting was for the dancers, it’s difficult to not consider the film being as brilliant as it is because the performers were pushed to the brink.

Take for instance, the opening prologue. In nine minutes, with almost no dialogue we are introduced to the two rival gangs, the Jets and the Sharks. Our introduction begins with snapping—a call to attention: The story is beginning so pay attention closely as we brief you on where things stand. As the Jets move they assert their dominance in the neighborhood. They swipe a basketball from two boys playing nearby to no objections. Their name is scribbled in chalk on brick walls and street pavements. Gradually their walking becomes more rhythmic; a swift glide, a jump in the air, until finally they begin to dance.

On location in the streets of New York City, the opening sequence was shot in August under several days of boiling sun. Regardless of the high temperature the dancers were made to perform the routines for multiple takes. Tony Mordente requested a break while filming the fight scene repeatedly with Jaime Rogers, Robbins ordered him to stay put. After running through take after take of the chase sequence between Baby John and the Sharks, Eliot Feld stopped after a cut to vomit. Upon finishing Robbins informed Feld that they had to do it again. At one point in the six weeks shoot the dancers were so fed up they conducted a Native American rain dance that proved to be effective. It brought in a substantial amount of rainfall that suspended shooting for several days, which then prompted co-director Robert Wise to post a note in the makeup room: “NO MORE RAIN DANCES!”

Similar issues also plagued the filming of the dance number for “Cool”. Back in California the sequence was filmed in a low ceiling garage with an abundance of shooting lights. The space quickly grew so hot that in between takes the dancers would rush out into the cold California air for respite and then hurry back in for another run through. The constant back and forth resulted in Eliot Feld acquiring pneumonia. The dance moves for “Cool” were the most challenging out of all the dance sequences in the film because it required the dancers to be on their knees for numerous takes. Although they were given kneepads for support they soon found that they offered very little protection. The dancers suffered from torn ligaments, sprains, shin splints, scrapes, burns. Susan Oakes was even punctured by a nail when she jumped down to the floor. There was dehydration to contend with and even a case of mononucleosis. When the scene was finally finished the dancers took their combined knee pads and burned them in a ceremonial bonfire—just outside Robbins’s office.

A challenging work environment indeed, but still the dancers did not consider quitting. Pain, for them, was just part of the job. The discomfort was easy to endure because they all knew the end result would be something spectacular. When the dancers were informed of Robbins’s dismissal from the film they were outraged. It was this act alone that had them consider leaving the project for good, for how could there be a West Side Story without Jerome Robbins? The musical was his creation, his vision. They eventually decided to stay upon realizing that it was now up to them to see Robbins’s vision completed. In the end, the only number not directed by Robbins was the gym sequence, with staging being delegated to his assistants.

When we watch the dance sequences in West Side Story we don’t see any of the pain or exhaustion that the dancers were dealing with. Because of Robbins’s meticulous attention to detail, his insistence in keeping the movements sharp, as he said to the New York Times, “like a pistol shot,” the dancing is so tight that it crosses over to having a sort of effortless, airy quality. The dancers don’t appear as if they are just moving in time from step to step, but instead as if they are breathing through them.

Stanley Kubrick would sometimes ask his actors to perform multiple takes of one scene because in his opinion, they didn’t know their lines. To him, if an actor had to think about their lines then they couldn’t focus on the emotion of a scene. By performing a scene over and over, countless times, the actors would not only get to a place of knowing their lines inside and out, but also reach a point of total presence in that moment. What resulted was a final product that didn’t feel like we were watching actors act but instead actors simply being.

Jerome Robbins’s approach to dance feels in many ways similar to Kubrick’s approach to acting. Perhaps dancers under his command were made to repeat their numbers a multitude of times because Robbins wanted to reach that same point of being that Kubrick desired. A point where the dancers didn’t appear to be thinking about what move came next but instead what emotion would come with that movement. To bring them to a state of knowing their dance moves so well that they no longer had to think about how to perform them. That when the music starts and the cameras roll all they’d have to do is give themselves over.

The camera sees all and it is conceivably why Jerome Robbins would repeatedly say to the dancers after demanding another take that, “once it’s on film it’s there forever.” There was no room for errors; especially when the opportunity was there to get it right, no matter how many takes it took. And even though they technically did not have all the time in the world, what with the low budget on the film slowly increasing, or the cost of Panavision 70 film stock, or the exhausted, overworked dancers, or the surrounding crew members waiting to be done and move on to the next scene.

But none of this was of any importance to Robbins because he understood that at the end of it all his name would be attached to the end product. A musical he conceived would live on forever through film. This is where future generations would get to witness his work and it had to be nothing short of perfect. And that is precisely what we see every time we put on West Side Story; impeccable artistry with no slip-ups and that appears completely effortless. Exactly the way Jerome Robbins wanted it.